License to Die
by WeAreTomorrow
Summary: RE-POSTED. Life just can't give Alex a break. Neither can Scorpia. When they capture him, it's up to his old unit to get him back... no matter the costs. Previously: Home Sweet SAS
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone,

Long time no see, I know, but I promise that it was worth it. Starting now, every single day I am going to be reposting the first chapter of one story, in order, from my earliest work to my most recent. And so on and so forth. You get the idea.

Any feedback is loved to death :)

-WeAreTomorrow


	2. Chapter 2

My first re-upload. I going to go in order, re-posting my oldest pieces first and then working my way up.

Enjoy :)

* * *

**Home Sweet SAS  
[an Alex Rider story]**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rider, but with your recent absences and failing grades I have no choice. I have to expel you."

Alex exhales softly and nods.

"I understand," he says, keeping his voice carefully polite before he turns and walks to the doorway, lingering for moment, as if hoping to be called back and sat down, told not to worry, that they know it's not his fault.

The headmaster opens a new file, already moving on.

Unable to resist the childish urge, Alex lets the door slams shut.

Expelled. Well, he couldn't say he was surprised. How could life not deprive him of even the smallest shreds of normality he had left?

His footsteps echo through the empty hallways and he stomps louder because it's the last time that he can.

He can hear voices coming from the classrooms he passes. Normal kids living normal lives as Alex walks alone, the feeling of it depressingly familiar. _At least I don't have to explain why I don't have my Biology homework_, Alex thinks with a grimace.

Last night he'd been at the hospital again. The final check to make sure he was completely recovered from his time working with MI6.

Or as close to 'completely recovered' as he was ever likely to get.

Deep in thought, he was almost walked by his locker. He blinked once, pulling himself back into the present.

He popped the catch open with his thumb. Alex never properly closed the thing. What was there worth stealing anyway? Homework and textbooks? Besides, anyone who really wanted to get past the flimsy little lock could without much effort.

Grabbing his rucksack, he hurried out of school. Outside the sun was shinning. Hoisting the bag higher onto his shoulder he looked back once.

Just once at the ugly brick building he'd been desperately wishing for a few weeks ago.

His mood improved considerably as he walked home, bike currently under repair, thanks to Smithers. The London streets were quite a thing to see, especially in good weather, even for someone who lived there.

Understandably enough, the death and destruction he'd dealt with in the past months had made him forget how good it felt just to stand still for a minute and let the world rush past him.

_Not that it was all bad_, Alex reflected, a bit spitefully, _if I hadn't been blackmailed into the whole thing I might even gave worked with them willingly_.

And –dare he admit it, even to himself?—he felt slightly useless without doing something as important as saving the world. It was in his blood to save people and stop evil maniacs from taking over the world, apparently.

Coded into his genes, into those damn nitrogenous bases his teacher kept raving on about.

But now all of that was over.

_Maybe_, thought Alex, _when I'm older…_

His brooding is interrupted as the back of neck started to prickle. At a glance, nothing seemed out of place but he had learned to trust his instincts a long time ago. And his instincts were telling him something was dangerously wrong.

Trying to act casual, Alex bent over, pretending to do up his trainers while examining the people near him.

His eyes glided over the crowd, resting on one man with a black cellphone in his hand.

The man seemed normal enough but then again a good assassin wasn't very likely to advertise the fact he's going to kill you unless there's no escape.

Speaking of escape.

Alex straightened and started walking away. He watched the possible hit man in a darkened store window. Victoria's Secret, he noted amused.

Possible Hit Man shut his handy with a snap. It wasn't an ordinary phone though. A silver scorpion glinted in the sunlight. _Goddamn it_, he thought, tired, _can't they just get over it_?

Alex increased his speed, but only slightly. He couldn't afford to let the Scorpian—his name for members of the poisonous terrorist organization—know he was on to him.

Concentrating on giving the assassin the slip, he didn't notice as someone brushed against him. Alex felt a sharp point stab through his skin.

No one stopped to wonder what two men were doing leaning over an unconscious teenager. Soon all three had disappeared into the crowded streets of London, unaware of the surveillance camera that watched them go.

* * *

Jack prowled the kitchen impatiently.

Where was Alex? He should be home by now. He wasn't.

Minutes ticked by, deliberately, frustratingly slow.

_Damn it!_ Jack grabbed the phone off the dinner table, punching in the numbers with lightning speed.

_Pickup, pickup, oh please just pick up_, she mentally begged.

After a few rings someone answered, "Hello?"

"Tom?"

"Jack!" Tom's voice sounded abnormally cheerful, "I've got good news! My parents agreed to see a therapist and the first meeting went great. Thank Alex for me, will you?"

Jack's hand tightened on the phone cord, "So, he's not with you?"

"Alex? No," Tom's voice lost its happiness. "He got called to the office during class. Haven't seen him since."

The phone slipped through Jack's fingers and clattered to the floor.

"Jack? Jack! Are you okay?" Tom's voice asked, lifetimes away.

_Why_, Jack thought desperately, _can't they just leave us alone_?

* * *

Alan Blunt didn't seem surprised to see a distressed Mrs. Jones walk through his office door without knocking.

"Sir, we've lost all contact to Alex. One of our cameras caught two men apprehending him."

His indifferent mask didn't slip an inch but his voice was sharp as he leaned forward over his desk and asked, "Can you get any signals whatsoever?"

"No," Mrs. Jones emphasized the word with a sharp shake of her head, "His housekeeper called. She's not happy."

"No, I suspect not."

Alan was silent for a stretch, tapping a finger against a thick folder. Alex's files.

"Search a little longer," he said finally.

But the heads of MI6 knew they wouldn't find anything. There was only one organization who could of pulled this off—Alex Rider, whether he knew it or not, was under almost constant surveillance.

* * *

White.

Endless.

Blinding.

Bright.

Alex shut his eyes, groaning.

Where was he? Why did his head hurt so much? Why… was he tied to a chair?

He blinked once, and in the split second between open and closed, his memories came rushing back.

Scorpia.

He opened his eyes more carefully this time. Scanning the room, he realized that what he had taken for endless whiteness, was in reality a small brightly light room. The kind of room where they lock up insane serial killers in badly made horror movies.

Already the pure whiteness made his head throb painfully.

"Just great," muttered Alex, "This way things I can go crazy before Scorpia has a chance to kill me."

He was already talking to himself, wasn't he?

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Alex twisted his head around. The door had opened soundlessly to reveal…

"No. No way."

* * *

Alan Blunt was in a bit of a dilemma.

One suicide bomber stopped, three international terrorists captured and killed, two potentially lethal poisons disposed of and a major smuggling network disabled.

But on to more important things.

The matter of a certain Alex Rider who just happened to be MIA.

Most inconvenient.

This would mean SAS involvement.

Blunt drummed his fingers lightly on a thin, coffee-colored folder, frowning slightly. This might yet work to his advantage. It was all about the perspective. A loud knock pulled him out of his vague ideas and various strategies. Time to set stage one of his plan in motion.

"Come in." Blunt said calmly, letting his face slip back in its usual impassive mask.

Four men filed in, glancing at each other a little uncertainly.

"Sit," Alan gestured at the chairs already waiting for them.

"Good afternoon, K-unit…"

* * *

Tamara Knight gave him a bright smile, "Yes, me."

"Surprised?"

Alex was at a complete loss.

Tamara was part of Scorpia? The attractive CIA agent who had helped him defeat Drevin and his Angel of Death?

No. It must be some kind of trick. A bad joke. A really bad joke.

But there was something, some glint in her beautiful blue eyes that could only mean she was telling the truth.

"Why?" his voice was barley more then a whisper but his accusatory glare burned as if trying to erase that, that _something_ out of her eyes.

Her smile widened, "The money, naturally."

"Of course, the money. What a stupid question." Alex's voice positively dripped sarcasm.

"Yes, it was." Tamara relaxed, her dark brown hair contrasting sharply with the stark white wall she leaned against, obviously enjoying Alex's anger.

Anger gave way to confusion and Alex asked a little dazed, "But what about the Ark Angel? I thought _Scorpia_," he spat the word, "was all for Drevin's plan."

"Oh, we were."

"But you helped me destroy everything!" Alex said frustrated.

Tamara was completely unconcerned, "No, I didn't. Not really. If you'd ever stopped to think about it, you'd realize I actually did the best I could to stop you without giving myself away."

Alex narrowed his eyes, "You tripped the alarm purposely!"

She nodded with a self-satisfied smile.

"And you sent me up in space even though you knew Kasper was there!"

She grinned, "Bingo."

"And…" He paused trying to remember.

"Go on," she encouraged, "There's more."

Everything was falling into place, "You're the reason Professor Sing didn't dare tell us about Kasper. It wasn't Kasper he was afraid of. It was you."

Tamara laughed delighted, "Three out of three! Quite the clever one, aren't you?"

Alex said nothing, choosing instead to struggle against the thick ropes that were restraining him. He felt betrayed, ashamed. Clever? It was right in front of his face the whole time and he'd been blinded by a pair of pretty blue eyes and a nice smile.

Tamara watched him amused.

"Well, dear Alex. Though I would've loved to stay longer, I have places to go and people to see…"

Just like that she was gone, leaving Alex to wrestle not only with ropes but his own tangled thoughts.

* * *

Sweat ran down his back. Or was it blood?

A single droplet inched its way down his spine, taunting him. Daring him to move, to wipe the god damned drop the hell off.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? He only needed to reach up and- No, Alex gritted his teeth. The pain hadn't faded and neither had the memory of the cause.

"Don't move," she had said. He wasn't moving anymore.

How far the mighty have fallen, the sweat-blood seemed to mock him, sliding down another inch of bruised and battered back. Blood, he decided, it was blood, everything seemed to be blood now.

The sticky sensation of his hands, the damp rags left of his shirt, the sour taste inside his mouth, the wetness of the floor… Think of something else, he ordered himself.

But what else could he think of?

His ragged uneven breaths, the searing hot pain in his back as the cold metal tip cut deep into his flesh? Or perhaps he should concentrate on the almost uncontrollable urge to scream?

Right.

How far the mighty have fallen; the blood took on a very real voice.

_You're pathetic, Alex_.

Alex Rider said nothing.

Just don't think of the single droplet as it falls, splattering on impact, staining red.

They all fall in the end.

* * *

"To put it simply, one of our best agents has recently gone missing. You are to launch a rescue mission as soon as possible. We believe Scorpia is responsible," Alan paused, noting the four identical looks of unease.

Good, the name deserved the caution that it received.

"But sir," the Spanish looking man—Wolf , Alan reminded himself –said, trying to disagree as politely as possible, "If Scorpia has your agent, isn't he as good as dead?"

"That is usually the case," admitted Blunt thinking of a particularly unpleasant event in the Middle East.

And all the Kings' men couldn't put him together again…

"But we have good reason to believe that our agent is being held for-" he broke off, trying to find more agreeable then 'torture'.

"Interrogation, possibly for insider information, most likely out of spite."

Nobody said anything but they were all thinking the same thing: _Scorpia never forgives, Scorpia never forgets._

It was Snake, the practical one, that broke the heavy silence, "If we are to rescue him, or her, I would appreciate a full medical file-"

Blunt interrupted saying, "Yes, I have arranged the proper files here with me, you must understand that as one of our best, much of his information, including," he nodded at Snake, "medical history cannot be released. "

He slid the older across the desk. Snake picked it up hesitantly, as if afraid it would bite.

Alan stood, adding, "besides, I highly doubt he would be pleased with the fact I'm giving out his personal data-," he tempted to say _to you_ but restrained himself.

"-at all."

He explained, "He is very young and looks younger. I shall contact you again before your departure."

Under his watchful eyes, K-unit stood and headed out the door.

Outside they exchanged a round of confused looks.

"Is it just me or did Snake's questions hit a nerve back there?" asked Eagle quietly.

Fox nodded, forehead furrowed.

Very young and looks younger? No, it couldn't be.

* * *

She was gone.

He must've blacked out at some point. Thankfully, he couldn't remember anything. But his body certainly did.

Tentatively, he stretched his legs- and flinched, waiting for the blow to fall. It didn't.

Trying to ignore the pain, he slowly stood up.

He had to get out of here. But how?

He was trapped in this little white hell hole, the heavy set door, also painted white, was the only possible means of escape, but what hope did he have of breaking it open without any of Smithers' gadgets to help him?

The idea struck him with the force of a speeding train. It was so obvious, so ridiculously impossible that it just might work, after all.

He might not have any of MI6's special effects but… if he was lucky… if Tamara hadn't remembered the details of their last encounter…

With renewed excitement and a growing hope, Alex pulled off his left shoe, undoing the laces.

Oh, the irony.

He never had gotten around to seeing the CIA after being sent to space. They hadn't tried to contact him and Alex was fine with that.

He hadn't minded keeping the laser shoelaces either.

Slipping back into his shoe, shoelace held tightly in hand, Alex approached the door.

He listened carefully; the only sound was the beating of his heart.

As smart as Tamara thought she was, she hadn't posted guards. Even after everything he'd done, Scorpia still underestimated him.

Not, that he was complaining.

It was hard holding it steady, harder then he remembered. How long had it been now since he'd eaten? Hell, how long had he been here? It seemed like weeks, but it couldn't possibly be that long.

Could it?

He pushed at the door, flinching at the creaking sound it made.

It swung open, revealing a narrow hallway. Alex allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

There was still no one in sight—everything was out working perfectly. So, of course, something had to go wrong.

The alarm went off.

* * *

NOTE:

It's probably not a good thing that I can count the amount of time I haven't worked on this story in years.

* sigh *

The truth is I've lost interest in this story so I'm hereby officially putting it up for adoption.

Any takers?


End file.
